


there’s poison in your eyes (care to share?)

by poise



Series: the what if's [12]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bullets, Guns, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Open to Interpretation, Suicidal Thoughts, Zombie Apocalypse, oddly poetic towards the end, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poise/pseuds/poise
Summary: “Then when will it matter?”When will it matter how many times Jaemin has thought about ending it? Why would it ever matter? One way or another, they were going to die in the end. Bitten or killed. Maybe that’s when it’ll matter. On your last few breaths. When you’re on the brink of death and you ask yourself, why hadn’t you beat them to it? Let yourself die on your own terms instead of someone else’s.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Series: the what if's [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378438
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	there’s poison in your eyes (care to share?)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! big trigger warnings!!   
> — mentions of suicidal thoughts and guns. 
> 
> it’s not too intense but i just wanted to give a heads up

Jaemin does a headcount as soon as they settle in the dingy office. 4, 5… He’s in charge of rationing the food as always (also because it’s a force of habit he just refuses to admit he has. Something about routine in a world like this is horrifying). Someone’s missing, he notices.  _ God, why is someone always missing? _ He’s starting to lose hair and he’s barely grazed the peak of his twenties. 

Mark and Jeno, the ever so responsible ones of the bunch, are already planning their next destination once the herd passes and the thunderstorm they’re predicting, fades. It’s always a risk moving during storms—it rains, it’s dark and no matter how many walkers (that’s what they call those ugly vermins) they use to smear guts on themselves, the rain will wash it away just as fast. Jaemin hates it, both the walker guts and the rain. Both are terrible for his hair and this new Elvis Presley t-shirt he spent too long wrangling out of a walker’s hold. Renjun says it looks like shit on him which is why he wears it almost every day now, just out of spite. Mark says it looks nice. 

Both Mark and Jeno are huddled in a corner with flashlights in their hands, looking at maps of buildings in this area. That’s two down. Donghyuck is sitting across from Jaemin, already making himself comfortable in the office chairs he managed to haul out of a cubicle with Chenle’s help. 

The wind is banging against the windows and there are a couple of walkers probably wandering around in the floor below them alerted with the sound. But they’re too dumb to make their way up. It’s a dark night anyway and the city’s lights have gone out long before, they won’t see a thing. Jaemin finds Jisung dozing off under a table several feet away from where Donghyuck is already drooping his head against the armrest of his chair.

Jaemin clicks his tongue, quietly. He wishes it was Mark or Jeno or anyone else that was missing instead. Renjun can be such a pain in the ass to find when he doesn’t want to be found. Jaemin has his guesses though. Of course he does. Surviving with someone for almost a year, he’s learned to pay attention to the details. It irks Renjun to no end, that someone can figure him out just a little bit. It makes him want to rip his hair out that it’s Jaemin of all people, the prat. 

Mark seems startled by the deep sigh that escapes his lips as he pulls himself to his feet. Jaemin offers him a lazy thumbs up and grabs the packet of cigarettes laying beside him. He mutters a barely audible,  _ “Finding Renjun.” _ before he’s back out the door. He has a knife pocketed in his skinny jeans just in case ( _ ‘Impractical!’  _ Jeno once said, referring to the jeans. Jaemin said he’d rather die looking somewhat desirable than miserable.). This whole floor is cleared of walkers but those buggers come jumping out like it’s no one’s business, better safe than sorry. 

There’s not much space to walk around on the floor anyway. The area outside the office space is a narrow corridor that leads straight to the elevator and it’s pretty much the same for the rest of the building. So either Renjun is on the roof or that idiot’s got himself bitten and killed. Sometimes, when he’s insufferable (and that’s most of the time), Jaemin would like to think it’s the latter, but Renjun’s the most skilled in a fight amongst all of them, he’d never go down without making a scene. Jaemin tries the roof. 

The piles of dead walkers leading up the fire exit like trail mix proves him just right. Most of them with their head bashed in against the railing. Renjun must be feeling pretty catty today, he thinks. 

The wind kisses his bare skin hello as soon a he pushes the door to the roof open. He’s had to kill one or two walkers on his way, the ones Renjun hadn’t killed properly. So he’s sweating by the time the cold air greets the pores on his skin, then regrets a second later for not bringing a jacket. At least, Renjun is there—feet hanging off the ledge and facing the moon. His shoulders slouch down as soon as he hears the door open, like he had expected it but was still disappointed. 

He’s decent enough not to say anything when Jaemin takes a seat beside him and dangles his legs across the ledge. There’s something shining into his eyes, silver reflected by the moon’s light. He thinks maybe it’s the glass windows from the other buildings bouncing off the moon’s reflection. But it takes Jaemin a little bit more time to realize that Renjun has his gun out, a .38 revolver, resting between his thighs with it’s silver coat blinding Jaemin’s left eye. 

When Renjun isn’t out disappearing or scavenging for food—he’s in a corner, polishing the hell out of his gun. It’s the only evidence Donghyuck has to prove that Renjun isn’t a walker himself disguised in healthy human skin. 

Nobody really knows why he’s so adamant in keeping the gun. It’s old, loud and just a little impractical when it comes to finding bullets. Renjun would decline everytime Mark offered to switch it out for a 9mm.

“It’s cold.” Jaemin starts. 

Honestly, it might just be him. He’s dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and pair of worn out jeans and Renjun looks quite comfortable in his warm jacket and cargo pants. 

“I hope you didn’t come all this way to talk to me about the fucking weather.”

And there he goes again,  _ the bastard _ , Jaemin thinks. If Renjun won’t die from getting bit, it’s his tongue that’ll lead him to his demise. 

“You know I love small talk.” That’s a lie. Jaemin hates small talk and Renjun knows that more than anyone. 

The cold air lingers with the stench of rotting flesh and decaying bodies. The groans surround them from below. Sometimes it gets suffocating when you’re hiding. He gets why Renjun likes the roof so much. There’s always an escape. 

Whenever they’re on the road, finding new houses to crash, new buildings to sleep in—it’s always Renjun that’s in charge of finding the exits and planning the worst case scenarios. He’s good at that—not breaking down.

The sound of the cylinder sliding out has Jaemin glancing in his direction. With calloused fingers, Renjun reaches into his pocket and pushes a bullet into one of the chambers—he slides the cylinder back into place with a  _ click. _

His hands are steady on the gun. 

Surprisingly, he speaks first.

Renjun looks at his feet dangling over the edge and then looks further below at the herd of walkers swarming the city. His eyes are distant. 

“How sad.” He says and oddly, his tone isn’t cold or mocking. He means it. 

“What is?” Jaemin tries to look down but all he sees is the herd. They’ve seen herds before. Bigger ones even. They’ve lost people to the herd. 

“Them. Us. All of it is sad.”

_ Good to know you have some semblance of humanity, _ Jaemin wants to joke. But something tells him it’s not the right time for it. He’s never seen such a look on Renjun’s face. Months of survival and a mocking smile was the most Renjun has offered. 

“I guess. But I try not to think too much about it.” 

“Why not?” The question catches him off guard. Renjun is all kinds of surprises today. 

Jaemin answers in the way he knows best when it comes to Renjun; honesty. 

“Because then I’d go crazy.” 

“Aren’t we all a little crazy?” Renjun scoffs and toys with the trigger on his gun. “You think the sane would survive this long?” 

He looks as if something bitter had burst in his mouth and seeped into his tongue and cheek. “No… they’re all down there.” He points the barrel of his gun at the herd of walkers groaning below. 

Jaemin must’ve stared a second too long because by the time he looks back, Renjun has the tip of the gun resting below his own chin. It doesn’t alarm Jaemin as much as it should. Instead, it leaves him a little amazed because this is what Renjun breaking down looks like; calm, hard eyes and absolutely stunning as always.

Maybe Renjun was right. Maybe they are crazy. 

Crazy, not stupid. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Jaemin says. “You blow your brains out here and the whole herd will come rushing in. The others are downstairs.” 

“I’d be doing them a favor. I’d be doing all of us a favor.” 

“You know I hate favors.” Jaemin scoffs. That one is true. He once searched a whole empty town for a candy bar and almost got bitten just because Jeno gave him his share of the rations that night after he got sick. It was horrifying and no one did Jaemin any more favors after that. 

Renjun has a finger hovering over the trigger, almost playfully. 

“You’ve never thought about doing it?” 

Jaemin doesn’t know what Renjun will say if he tells him it’s almost all he thinks about. In a world like this, it’s inevitable. It follows you like a ghost. 

His hands reach for the gun in Renjun’s hold but he doesn’t budge. Instead, Jaemin sees the barrel dig deeper into the crevice of his chin. They start a small tug of war for dominance. 

“Doesn’t matter. Stop fooling around.” The words feel foreign leaving Jaemin’s lips and directed at Renjun. Usually, it’s the other way around. 

“Then when will it matter?”

When will it matter how many times Jaemin has thought about ending it? Why would it ever matter? One way or another, they were going to die in the end. Bitten or killed. Maybe that’s when it’ll matter. On your last few breaths. When you’re on the brink of death and you ask yourself, why hadn’t you beat them to it? Let yourself die on your own terms instead of someone else’s. 

Jaemin answers Renjun just that. 

He doesn’t expect to stare directly into the barrel of the gun seconds later.

“Like this?” Renjun asks. His voice doesn’t falter despite how lost Jaemin knows he is. “Does it matter now?” 

Even when they’re like this, with Jaemin’s life in Renjun’s hands, he isn’t alarmed. Not even a little bit. There’s a high chance Renjun will pull that trigger. He might end up dead in this stupid Elvis Presley t-shirt and his worst pair of skinny jeans, but he’s not scared. 

He looks down to the herd and presses his forehead to lean against the tip of the gun. It’s icy cold on his skin.

The ugly feeling of satisfaction boils in his stomach when Renjun looks surprised by his trust. His finger hovers over the trigger and a few seconds go by. 

And then Renjun speaks. 

“I just don’t want to die as something else. I want to still be me when I die.”

There it is. The breaking point Renjun so dearly hides, out in the open for Jaemin to see. He feels like he’s holding the gun instead with how vulnerable he looks.

“And you will. Even if I have to kill you myself.”

The gun is pulled away from his forehead and Jaemin is met with the unusual sight of Renjun breaking in a large grin, only a hint of mockery in it. Still so stunning, the bastard. 

“That’s a promise, you know.” 

Jaemin pretends to think it over. “I know.” 

“You hate promises.” 

“I know.” 

They’re back to staring at their legs dangling over the edge. If there was a walker clawing through the window on the floor below, it could probably reach for their feet. Jaemin thinks it’ll be less surprising than the last 20 minutes he’s spent on this roof. 

“I’ll go find us some beer.” He finally says. He doesn’t know the chances of finding beer in an office space but he really needs a drink. It seems like they both do. And maybe a lot more talking. 

He turns around and swings his legs away from the ledge. 

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Renjun is back to his mocking smiles and mocking laughs. He lets out a signature sneer. 

“We both know how hard that is for me.” 

At least he’s slipped his gun back into his holster. Jaemin believes him this much for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/813na)   
>  [twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/rensfilms)


End file.
